


Betting on Love

by bleumysti



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Competition, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Kindred Spirits, Married Couple, Romantic Fluff, So Married, Wedding Fluff, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 08:16:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20672189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleumysti/pseuds/bleumysti
Summary: An observation about them being like an old married couple sparks a conversation. Neither Michael nor Maria thinks they're the  marrying kind, but they both think they can beat the other in the commitment department.  A joke turns into a bet, but will a bet turn into something more?!





	Betting on Love

_**Based on Tumblr Inspo Event: **Candy & Milkshakes 2019 _

_**A/N:** A little late to the party, but it’s … something. A little humble offering to another lovely event. As usual, it’s a freestyle. Enjoy, or not. It’s OK either way. :)_

~~~~

It started as a joke.

At least, it was for her. He wasn’t sure if he ever meant it jokingly, or if it was the best way to give voice to a deeper yearning he was afraid to face.

They had a certain vibe – had cultivated it over the years without even thinking about it, so other patrons were bound to take notice.

One-eyed Rick, who ironically had two perfectly good eyes, casually referred to them as an old married couple somewhere between her bitching about the bottle of whiskey he stole and him sweating profusely while fixing the barkeep sink.

He didn’t even remember agreeing to do it. It happened, much like most situations with DeLuca.

“You’re worse than my ol’ man ‘n his lady,” Rick slurred. “Married 35 years ‘n,” he hiccuped. “Still won’ stop bickerin’” he drank the last of his shot and slapped his hand on the bar with a raucous laugh. “Won’t stop fuc–”

“It’s been real, Rick,” Maria interrupted him. “Pony up,” she held out the lockbox and waited for him to drop his keys inside.

“Rusty,” she called out to her middle-aged employee with a weathered face. He was hard and scary looking from the outside, and he did a bid, but he was a total Teddy bear. “Round 'em up.”

She didn’t have to say last-call for the stragglers to know it was a wrap. Those too intoxicated to drive, dropped their keys in the dropbox and filed in line outside of Rusty’s clunky old van for dropoff.

“C'mon, what’s one more drink, _Ma_” He emphasized the endearment knowing it would drive her nuts.

He thought he got away with it when he heard her locking the doors. He should have known better.

He was deep into tampering with a pipe when Maria loomed over him. Her shadow blocked the little light he had, and the point of her cowgirl boot was dangerously close to his boys.

“You about done with that, _Pa_?” Her voice was syrupy sweet when he ducked his head out to steal a look at her.

She was standing over him. He had the perfect view of her midriff as she looked down on him unimpressed.

She squatted down to get a better look at what he was doing. He thought it was unintentional on her part – her encroaching in on his personal space, her legs brushing against his, foot still planted firmly near his crotch and bust close enough to his face where he could see the pendant he fixed for her peeking from beneath her shirt.

“How long is it going to take?” She asked. His lack of response got her attention. She stared him dead in the eyes. “Focus!”

“I am,” he replied, his tongue slipping out to wet his lips as his eyes darted from her chest to her eyes inconspicuously.

“On the pipe, Guerin,” she was exasperated, but he could tell by the slight upward curve of her lip that she was trying not to smile.

“Oh, I am,” he quipped flashing her a lascivious grin.

“Not that pipe,” she ground out shaking her head. She flashed a light under the sink without him needing to ask.

He would hold his hand out confident that she would press the right tool in his palm, and she always did. Yeah, they bickered, but they also made a hell of a team, and maybe that was what Rick was referring to.

He didn’t realize he slipped into a quiet state until he blinked and realized they were in the town square. They had walked from the Wild Pony through town in silence, and only when he looked at Maria did he notice the furrow between her brow.

“You gonna spit it out, Guerin? Not that I don’t mind when that mouth of yours isn’t moving, but–”

“Oh, you love it when my mouth is moving,” he snapped back. He rocked back on his feet, dazzled by how the moonlight hit her hair. “As I recall, you love it a lot.”

Her eyes flickered to his lips as if she was imagining just what they could do to her. She shook her head discreetly, stared at him with unfocused eyes, and he winked at her.

“Asshole,” she muttered.

“If you’re offering -” he started. Damn, he loved to goad her. She always played along, kept him sharp, and surprised him.

He took off his hat, made a sweeping gesture until she sat down on a bench in front of the fountain, and he plopped down next to her.

He threw his arm along the back of the bench and relished the warmth of her. To his enjoyment, she settled into him, rested her face lightly against his worn leather jacket and sighed.

“I’m still waiting, Guerin,” she prodded, poking him in the side. “You can’t distract me for shit you know?”

Part of him wanted to tease that he knew how to distract her well, but she was tired and despite a false air of indifference, she cared about him.

He never knew what to do with that – how to process someone caring about him when they weren’t required to.

“You ever think about marriage, 'Luc?” He held his breath. Maria was easy to be vulnerable with, easier than he cared for, but it was ingrained in him to be anything but.

He always felt like he was overriding his code, but it was simply the effect she had on him.

She snorted, but one look at his face and she saw past his fake smirk and knew he was serious. She blinked.

“I don’t need marriage,” she replied after a while. She shrugged but tugged at the chain to her necklace deep in thought.

“I didn’t ask if you needed marriage, DeLuca.“ He leaned in close, holding her eyes with his, watched the way she swallowed unnerved. "I asked if you wanted marriage.”

“Ha,” she blew out. She went for light again. “Whoever bends a knee to me requires a hell of a lot of luck.”

“I never much believed in luck anyway,” he raised his brow suggestively, and she rolled her eyes.

“And what prompted this, Guerin? You thinking about being the ball to someone’s chain?”

He slumped into the bench and rested his head on the back of it. He looked up at the stars, a mystery that eluded him as he continued to try and fail to find his way home, wherever the hell that was.

“I don’t think I’m cut out for marriage,” he sighed. And he didn’t. Marriage meant he belonged to someone, that someone would want to be tied to him – not abandon him.

“I didn’t ask if you were cut out for marriage, Guerin,” she shot back.

He could feel her gaze burning hot into the side of his face, but he wouldn’t succumb to her silently beckoning him.

“The DeLuca women, we don’t really get married. It’s nothing official, no reason behind it that I know of, but it just … is,” her voice was smaller than he was used to, and his eyes darted to her, but she was staring into the fountain fiddling with a coin as an errant distraction.

“I used to think about it when I was a young girl. I can sit here and pretend I was above all that, but everyone wants to be loved and cherished,” she sounded wistful, vulnerable even.

“I’m not going to act like the idea of someone special pledging their love for me in front of people who matter didn’t appeal to me, you know?

"The institution of marriage is a bit antiquated, but it’s a promise. And promises matter…” her voice trailed off. “I used to think about it. Twirling around in Mimi’s favorite dress. Wearing my favorite boots. Throwing a shindig at the Wild Pony, nothing big, but everyone’s welcome…” she shrugged.

“Dancing with Mimi and laughing, some lucky bastard putting up with me, knowing me, loving me out loud – yeah, it has an appeal. Marriage is eternal friendship– it’s family, and family… matters,” she threw her coin into the fountain and searched his face.

He couldn’t speak, not at first. Not when she shared that same sentiment that sometimes left him longing for something he never suspected was in the cards for him.

“Marriage means family,” he agreed. “Never had much of one, so I doubt I could pull off the other,” he stared at her, opting to lighten the mood, but he couldn’t help his mischievous streak from getting the better of him. “But I could pull it off better than you.”

“You!” She laughed so hard she clutched her stomach. If he was being honest with himself, it cut him a bit.

“You say that like you aren’t a commitmentphobe too,” he narrowed his eyes at her daring her to contest. “Do we need to revisit the Chad fiasco?”

“We agreed to never speak of Chad,” she shuddered.

“All I’m saying is if he popped the question, you would have gone running, better yet, you would’ve sent him scampering away with his tail between his legs.

He watched her open her mouth to argue, but deep down she probably knew she couldn’t. "You would bail out of a commitment before I would. That’s just a fact,” she sputtered.

“You’re on, Deluca,” he leaned in close until his lips were touching the shell of her ear. “You’re on.”

The panic across her face thrilled him. But she also wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, even if she didn’t know exactly what the challenge was.

It started as a joke and grew into a bet. He wasn’t used to betting on anything good happening in his life. But there were firsts for everything.

—

When Maria performed, he got lost. It was a sight to behold, and he was convinced some stragglers hung around the Wild Pony long enough to watch her light up the stage.

She performed like it was her calling – the stage her pulpit and music was her religion. He often felt this unspeakable blend of pride, elation, and melancholy.

Because Maria was destined for greater things that weren’t slinging drinks at a grubby pub and hustling racists for cash.

She belonged to the music. And maybe they were both wrong. Maybe she belonged to something after all. Music was the only thing that deserved her.

She jumped off the stage buzzing and still riding high like she performed at Madison Square Garden and not some offbeat path in Roswell.

He only intended to pop in to hear her sing. He swore it to himself since she banned him last week, and he was on a two-week suspension.

He couldn’t escape quick enough though. His hat gave him away, but he was starting to think she was attuned to him. Like her body was wired to pick him out of a crowd like a bad habit. Like she could sense his specific presence the way he could with hers.

“You’re not supposed to be here, Guerin,” she sounded only slightly exasperated, but she probably suspected he would violate the rules at some point.

He was taken by her soft sheen of sweat from the stage lights, the sparkle on her skin from glitter lotion. Her eyeliner made her eyes more alluring than usual, her deep violet lipstick made her full lips more inviting.

He was effectively tongue-tied.

“And miss you performing, DeLuca? It’s cute how you thought that was going to happen.

He bit his lip and she looked away nodded and smiled at the accolades she was showered with. Her eyes shone bright both humbled and proud of the praise she received.

"Yeah, well,” she grabbed the bottle out of his hand, threw it back like the best of him, her throat working in ways that gave him sinful ideas. “No alcohol then.”

He was grateful he hadn’t dosed his drink with acetone yet, but part of him anticipated something like this if she found him. “I was breaking up the riff-raff! If anything, that deserves a drink,” he reasoned.

He loved taking up her time. It was selfish, but the longer they went at it, she was giving him most of her time. Time was valuable for Maria, so he felt valuable when she gave some to him.

He loved the verbal sparring with her. It seemed ridiculous to other people, but he could do it… forever.

“You are the riff-raff,” she countered. He could barely hear a “what am I going to do with you,” muttered under her breath when he opted to put on a show.

“You can forgive me,” he grabbed her hands, fell to his knee and set the bottle down on the floor beside him.

“C'mon darlin’, you can’t be pissed at me for long,” he wiggled his eyebrows at her, and she stared down at him feigning annoyance.

“Guerin, what the fuck are you doing?”

He pulled his hat off his head and held it over his heart. “Practicing,” he teased.

“Fine,” she relented, eyeballing the latest hire overpouring at the bar. “Two drinks tonight including the one I just drank, but you’re still banned until next week. Now,” she went to tug her hands out of his. “I have shit to do.”

He would have left things there, but he was having too much fun.

“One more thing,” he said louder than usual, enough to gain attention from those surrounding them.

“One more thing,” she mimicked. “Wha…” her voice trailed off. “You said 'practice,’” she replayed their conversation. “Guerin …” she warned reading the mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“Maria DeLuca,” he started getting way too pumped by the way her eyes narrowed at him. “Please,” the genuine sincerity came through as he stared at her all beautiful and spirited and got distracted. “Please, let me marry you?”

He ignored the hooting and hollering around them and only focused on the shock on her face. He tilted his head, letting her know the ball was in her court.

Her shock turned into irritation and then challenge.

Yet, he expected a knee to the chest or a verbal smackdown that left him equal parts vulnerable and turned on. He expected a win.

He was not expecting her to lean in close and mutter, “Nice try, Guerin,” against his lips as she kissed him followed by a loud, “Hell yeah!”

“No ring,” she asked innocently.

He was still a bit shell-shocked, and she knew it too based on the way she was smirking at him, but her smirk softened to an amused smile when he pulled out a ring pop.

He got it as a gag to toy with her later. Snatched it out the candy jar used to distract the kids while he worked on cars.

He shoved the little plastic ring on her finger deliberate and slow, then raised her knuckle to his lips and sucked the bulbous confectionery piece. “Sweet and tart just like you.”

She popped it in her mouth and savored the flavor. “Mmm. Watermelon.”

She brushed past him, her lips coming to his ear, breath warm against him and making him shudder. “The ring was a nice touch, even though it’ll only last until the end of the night.”

She nibbled his ear playfully and smacked him on the ass. When she sashayed away only looking back to suck her ring pop and wink at him, all he could do was chuckle. Challenge accepted.

—

“Is there a reason you called me over here,” he could barely hear her over the blowtorch he was using, but he ignored her all the same.

To his bemusement, it gave her the perfect opportunity to check him out when she thought he wasn’t looking.

He could feel her gaze raking across his jeans slung low off of his hips. The dark tank top hugged his torso, she scanned his arms as he went to work on the metal piece he was working on.

When he had enough of giving her a show he flipped his mask up and shut off the blow torch.

She did her best to appear annoyed, but the way her tongue peeked out and she looked flustered, he could tell she was anything but.

“I got your text, babe,” she emphasized. “Is there a reason you called me here? I have errands to run.”

“Maybe I just wanted to see you,” he approached her slowly, stopped, and before thinking about it, he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

He could never figure out what it was about her, the way she pulled him into her orbit and held him there.

She stalled, taken aback by the affectionate gesture, but it made her smile, which in turn made him smile.

“I have something for you,” he said, his voice husky.

He stared down at her, watched as her chest rose and fell and their proximity affected her, but she wasn’t going to be the one to back away and neither was he.

“I’m waiting,” she said breathlessly. When she shook her head and cleared her throat, all he could do was laugh.

He dug into his back pocket and pulled it out. He grabbed her hand, which she snatched away warily until he grabbed it again his brow raised.

When she relented, he slid the ring on her finger. His hands shook, but they both pretended not to notice, and he took a long moment before he could lift his eyes to meet hers.

Bet or not, he put himself out there with the ring he made out of scrap metal, bits of silver and copper twisted into something beautiful, intricate, and strong, just like her.

If she didn’t like it, it would crush him. He realized that the second his shaky hands slid it onto her finger. It was a perfect fit.

“Michael,” she gasped. Her mouth was ajar, eyes wide, and she was speechless. He rendered her speechless.

His first name on her lips sent a jolt through him.

“Guerin,” she corrected, his surname soft on her lips. “You–”

“Made it,” he supplied, swelling with pride.

“For me?” She asked disbelievingly. Her eyes shimmered, but he couldn’t tell if it was the sun or her getting emotional.

“It’s…” she traced the intricate swirls with her finger. “It’s beautiful. She rested on the stone in the center, something unusual to her. "This stone,” she tapped it. “I’ve never seen it before.”

He looked away. “It’s something from home,” he said coyly.

Her forehead creased, but before she could inquire, he gave her his trademark smirk. “My future wife deserved something more permanent than a ring pop, right?”

“You –” she started, but he flipped his mask back down and turned on his blow torch.

“Got work to do,” he called from beneath the mask, smacking her backside as she did to him before. He went back to work, but he couldn’t help but notice her sitting in the truck staring at her ring in surprise. He chuckled to himself.

—

She wore the ring for weeks. It both excited him and surprised him.

She kept it right on the ring finger of her left hand too, like, like it was real for her, and she didn’t mind the world knowing that they were engaged, sort of.

She did the most to. Waltzed into the old junkyard and had folks fixing her car on his dime. She said she got the family discount.

“Were you ever going to tell me you got engaged or was I just supposed to find out from Liz,” Max asked.

He slid into the barstool next to Michael, and his expression was priceless. Maybe he should have told Max when it happened just to see his brother lose his mind. Isobel probably threw a hissy fit.

“She told Liz?” He couldn’t hide his shock, which in turn confused Max.

“That’s what normal people do, yeah,” Max studied him, and he could feel his brother probing for something.

“When have any of us ever been normal?”

“Michael,” Max began, his voice edging towards concern. “If you’re playing Maria–”

“I’m not,” he protested. “It’s not like that, Max. Lay off,” he could count on his hands the number of times they both spent at the Wild Pony together, and he preferred it that way. Max could be a buzzkill.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but if you hurt her, Michael, I swear I’ll–”

“What? Electrocute me?” He shot back.

It shouldn’t have surprised him that Max was under Maria’s spell too. People loved her. She was hard not to–

He took a swig of his drink and watched her pour someone a whiskey.

“I would never hurt her,” he said firmly. The truth was she could destroy him a thousand times over. In some ways, she already had.

“Three weeks, Mikey,” Liz swooped in with a container of fries in her hand.

He levitated one toward him when he felt no one was looking and ignored Max’s scowl and Liz’s frown.

“Three weeks until what?” He took another long pull of his beer.

“You know, honey,” Maria appeared in front of them as if she had been summoned. “Until our wedding,” she smiled sweetly.

He choked on his beer.

“You OK, babe?” She leaned across the counter giving a full view of her cleavage while she whacked him on the back.

“Perfect, darlin’,” he rasped. “Three weeks is too far away.”

They stared each other down ignoring their friends’ puzzled expressions.

“This seems like a competition more than an engagement,” Max muttered.

“Or foreplay,” Liz added.

—

Signing the marriage license was a standoff of its own.

They drove to the clerk’s office together. They sat in the parking lot waiting to see if one of them would suddenly back out, but it never happened.

He signed first, and then he stared her down with a grin, but her swirly script joined his chicken-scratch in no time.

“I’m not changing my name,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“Good. Because I like your name,” he tapped the steering wheel and tried to expel his nervous energy. “In fact, I think I’ll take it.”

He kept his eyes on the road, but he could feel hers boring into the side of his face.

“You … want to take my name?” Her voice was even not giving anything away, which made him more nervous.

He didn’t realize the extent of his tapping until her hand – engagement ring too – rested over his stilling him.

He tried to fight it off, but the warm gesture had him spilling his thoughts and internally kicking himself for being so vulnerable.

“I never had a name that mattered,” he sounded guarded even to his own ears. “I never had a choice in it.

"The system named me, and I had the last name of the piece of shit who took me in for the paycheck. He was no one I wanted to be linked to or aspired to be like,” he shrugged.

Maria’s fingers entwined with his, but his eyes never left the road.

“My name never felt mine. Nothing has ever felt like it was m–” he blew his breath. “DeLuca. It means something. Strong. Honest. Brave. Integrity and Compassion. It’s the name of two of the best people I know.”

DeLuca made him think of what home was supposed to feel like.

“It is something to aspire to,” he finished.

Maria was silent for a while, and his mind raced with something to relieve the heaviness and make him feel less exposed.

“Michael Deluca,” Maria said quietly. She squeezed his hand. “I kinda like it.”

—-

“You still got time to bail, asshole.”

It was just like Maria to taunt him moments before the wedding. They spent weeks laying on the pressure and waiting for the other to cave.

Neither of them ever did.

There was still time though, but the thought of Maria backing out this close to the deed would send him spiraling.

He didn’t realize how much until he was standing there in a black dress shirt with Max adjusting his tie. He hated ties.

If he ever doubted the love the community had for Maria, it was put to rest with the display at the Wild Pony.

Fairy lights twinkled everywhere. The two ladies at the boutique did most of the decorating. Arturo provided most of the food. He recognized the man who baked the wedding cake – an elaborate colorful display that was quintessentially Maria – as someone who used to attend Ranchero night years ago.

There were desert flowers and succulents everywhere. And a small gathering of locals, the woman who organized the food market in the square, and the staff at the Pony. Kyle Valenti was handling the music, and to his surprise, Sheriff Valenti was officiating.

Somewhere between taking a hit of acetone and feeling Max’s hand press against his back as he stood at the altar, he realized he wasn’t nervous about marrying Maria. He was nervous about not marrying her.

When the music played, his heart stopped, but when he caught his first glimpse of Maria being led down the aisle, appearing more nervous than he ever saw her before, he thought his heart would beat out of his chest.

He removed his hat as she approached, stunned into silence and not a snarky quip to be made.

She was a vision in an eggshell dress, all lace, and form-fitting, falling to her knees and flaring out. He knew it was Mimi’s the moment he saw it, from the style to how emotional Maria was because she was wearing it.

Her hair was done up and held together by an elaborate hairpiece, and tiny jewels reminiscent of the fairy lights were woven throughout it.

She still wore her trademark pendant. Bangles that belonged to the Ortecho sisters, and a pair of her favorite cowgirl boots.

He was breathless because she was breathtaking. He could distantly hear Max sniffling behind him, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

Mimi hugged her daughter tight and kissed both cheeks and then turned to Michael and enveloped him too.

“You were always such a good boy,” she whispered warmly in his ear. “You’re always home here,” she cupped his face and pulled him down so she could kiss his cheeks.

A tear slipped down his cheek as he sniffled back a dam and turned his attention back to Maria.

He grabbed her face and cupped her neck, resting his forehead against hers. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he pressed his lips to hers.

She pulled away dazed as Valenti cleared her throat.

“We’re doing this?” Maria breathed. The reality hitting her.

“I guess so,” he grinned. He stared at her lips and eyes, and he smiled wildly.

“It’s a draw, Guer,” her mouth worked to find more words, but she was at a loss. “Neither of us lost.”

“No,” he brushed his hands down her arms. “We certainly didn’t lose.”

“But neither of us won,” she started again.

“I would beg to fucking differ,” he breathed. His eyes welled up again, and he only wished he could blame it solely on Max.

“So what does this mean?” She whispered. “What do we get?”

He stared at her, his eyes searching hers as he leaned in and sucked her lower lip between his. “Each other, Maria. We get each other.”

She was surprised when he announced he had written his vows. It meant he had anticipated declaring them. The napkin he dug out his pocket was damp, and the ink ran.

“Fuck it,” he proclaimed amidst chuckles. He steadied himself, his eyes locked on hers. “There’s something about you that keeps me coming back again,” he started.

He struggled to put his feelings into words. “You chose me. People don’t usually choose me. They get stuck with me, but you always did. You always do. You never walk away,” he said with wonder. “No matter how hard I push, you’re always… there.

"You challenge me, and you call me out on my bullshit, and you make me want to be a better person. You make me feel normal, and comfortable and … home,” he didn’t care if he was in front of other people.

At that moment, all he cared about was being the most honest with Maria he had ever been. He bared his soul like she was the only one in the room, and brushed every tear of hers that threatened to fall as it continued to hit her how real not only their wedding was but his feelings for her.

And then, in a moment he would never forget, she returned the favor in kind. “You always show up for me,” she whispered.

“It’s like you just know, how, when … you take care of me in ways I didn’t think I needed – I didn’t think I was owed.

"And the truth is, I don’t need it. I could do without. I have done without, but I wanted it. It’s okay to want that – this, you. I want you.”

Maria lost it again when he pulled out their wedding bands and she realized he made those out of scrap metal too.

He barely heard the words when Valenti pronounced them as husband and wife, but he did here Mrs. and Mr. DeLuca and thought he would spontaneously combust from joy, from the honor.

He grabbed her face again, kissed her senseless, dipped her back, and kissed her more.

He held her hand as they jumped over an ornate broom.

He felt back pats and handshakes, hugs and kisses, but all he saw was Maria.

Marriage meant family. It meant someone thought he was worthy enough to be tied to them. It meant he belonged to someone – he mattered to someone.

He spent most of life searching for that, and as he watched his new wife laughing, dancing, happier than he had ever seen her – as he was happier than he had ever allowed himself to be before, he realized he finally found it.

_**~fin~**_


End file.
